


Mr Malfoy and the Amazing Dessert

by WeasleyWench



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Implied D/s, M/M, Major OOC, PWP, Submissive!Draco, Teacher!Harry, Virgin!Draco, major fluff, unmitigated fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 15:58:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19154275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeasleyWench/pseuds/WeasleyWench
Summary: "Cooking is all about people. Food is maybe the only universal thing that really has the power to bring everyone together. No matter what culture, everywhere around the world, people get together to eat." Guy Fieri





	Mr Malfoy and the Amazing Dessert

**Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.  
**Warning(s):** MAJOR OOC, PWP, submissive!Draco, teacher!Harry, implied D/s, unmitigated fluff, virgin!Draco  
**Epilogue compliant?** Nope. “8th year” Hogwarts, Post-War  
**Word count:** ~13,000  
**Author's notes:** Dear emeraldfeather, I do hope you like what I decided to do with your prompt. I’m trying something new with the style and composition of this story. I’ve never written chapters this short before, either. Trust me. LOL I haven’t written switching POVs in a long time, either. So if you hate it, I completely understand. Oh, and fluff is not generally my genre. It was difficult not to go a bit dark with this. I tried to keep it simple for you. I wanted to work in some more serious things with it, and bring it back to canon, but my muse has flitted away again.

****

**Mr Malfoy and the Amazing Dessert**

****

**Prologue**

“Mr Malfoy, I wanted to speak to you personally before the start of the school year.”

Draco looked at Dumbledore’s portrait, weighing his options. 

“Are you alright, young man?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You will rejoin your house but, as I asked Professor McGonagall to share with the school, each student will switch Houses every weekend. You understand, this is not a punishment. It is to build unity in the face of all that we have endured. You need each other, more than you think.”

Draco nodded. He understood, but still didn’t like it. Half of his Housemates were gone. Somehow, Dumbledore had convinced Professor McGonagall to take him back for his final year and let him finish properly, despite his family’s affiliation with Voldemort. 

“Now, I expect great things from you. Mr Potter told me about your role in helping him during the final battle with Voldemort. Make every opportunity yours. It is one of your strengths.”

“I will, sir.” Draco sounded sincere to his own ears but, in reality, he had no idea why he was even at Hogwarts; he knew he should be in Azkaban with his father. One good deed didn’t erase all the bad ones. Unless there was more to Potter’s story than what Dumbledore had suggested. There had to be an angle, something no one was telling him.

“Good. Now, enjoy your first weekend. I believe Slytherin is swapping with Hufflepuff first.” Dumbledore smiled. “And do try to get along with Mr Potter. You will find that while he is loyal to a fault, he is also just as insecure about some things. Perhaps you can help each other?”

Draco nodded and said a goodbye before leaving the Headmaster’s office. This final year would be... different, if not interesting, given the fact that he and what was left of his Housemates would be spending time with stupid Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Gryffindors.

 

****

**Chapter 1**

“They’re mental! What are they thinking?” Ron asked, looking at Harry.

“House unity,” Harry said, looking at his trunk. It was a good idea. After everything that had happened at Hogwarts, there needed to be stability, harmony. Even if that meant with Slytherins. Harry knew he wasn't a deep thinker, but he also recognised the need for the school to be put back together, have a final year for the ones who returned. Hogwarts now stood as the sentinel who watched the Final Battle take place. It wasn't just a historical 'figure' any more. Hogwarts was where it had all begun and ended for Harry.

“But it’s stupid.” Ron looked far more indignant than Harry felt. Honestly, he was glad they were doing it. Professor McGonagall had been hopeful during the Sorting ceremony. The Hat had even sung of unity, of brotherhood and sisterhood, of breaking down long-standing barriers between the Houses. 

“Ron, will you please stop complaining. It’s not like you’ll understand half of what the Ravenclaws have to say.” Hermione smiled.

“Oh, look who’s got jokes.” Ron grumbled something indelicate and turned to Harry again.

“Ron, just leave it. We’re switching Houses for a reason. Don’t make it more difficult.”

Ron frowned. “Well, at least we’re not in Hufflepuff first.”

“See, already a bright side.” Harry pulled clothes from his trunk and stuffed them into his bag. “It’s just the weekend. I mean, maybe once we’ve been in all of the other Houses, Professor McGonagall will decide that things need to be done differently.”

Ron hummed, but didn’t begin packing his clothes. 

“Hermione, are you ready?”

“Of course.” She went and rubbed Ron’s shoulder. “Ron, give it a chance.”

“Yeah, yeah. I will.”

Hermione kissed him. His face turned red, ears like little Fiendfyres. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Harry sighed. He didn’t want to hear that mushy stuff. As much as he had thought about Ginny during the war, it turned out she hadn’t been thinking of him that way. He had loved her. He thought. Had even told her so, but she had touched his cheek, told him she appreciated it, and left. It had been a good thing that she had gone to spend some time with Bill and Fleur during summer.

 

“Get out,” Harry said, half-smiling. The pair of them had already forced him to spend a lot of time alone inside the Burrow, or helping at George’s shop. He had even spent some time with his family. And he got the spare room, without all of Dudley's old shit sorted everywhere. No, they had treated him like the man who had saved all of their arses from a megalomaniacal cretin. Harry knew he hadn't done all of the heavy lifting. Ron and Hermione had helped a lot, along with Neville, and anyone else who managed to 'bring it' as Dudley had put it. Harry shook his head, thinking about his cousin. He had been in a middle-class family his whole life, now he acted like a chav: tracksuits, trainers, gold chains. Stupid. 

“Fine. I’m going. I’ll meet you outside Ravenclaw in an hour,” Hermione said.

“Yeah, alright,” Harry grunted.

Harry watched her leave. He wasn’t jealous, but he did wish that the two of them knew how to balance their time with him, and kept the ‘I love yous’ to a minimum. At least for now, while he tried to put everything with Ginny in perspective. Maybe his stardom had worn off for her. Realising that, he was glad she hadn't pursued a relationship with him. If all he was meant to be to her was a walking trophy, he could find someone else. He almost chuckled. Ron's voice broke his train of thought.

“You didn’t have to say it like that,” Ron said.

“Like what?”

“Like you were bossing her around,” Ron said, his face now pink.

“She bosses us around all the time. It’s my turn to tell her to go to hell if I feel like it. She’s not my mum. Just because she’s _your_ girlfriend, doesn’t mean I have to listen to everything she says like you do.”

“You’re a wanker,” Ron said, and stomped down the stairs.

Harry realised that Ron may be right. But he didn’t care. He had been at Hermione’s mercy for seven years. Not any more. He was his own man. He had to stop letting people lead him. He was a leader; the war had taught him that. He had had a lot of time to think over the summer. He had decided to finish the year so he could take his NEWTs, but that was all. He had friends. He had family. He didn’t need much more. Apart from a job... his parents’ money wouldn’t last forever. Or the estate from Sirius. He had no prospects, apart from attempting to live in the Muggle world. That would never satisfy him. He wanted to be a part of the wizarding world, use the magic he had learned, maybe become an Auror, spend his time stopping wizards like Voldemort before they could get so far as to wipe out so many innocent people.

With that in mind, he wandered downstairs to the common room with his bag over his shoulder. Ron and Hermione cuddled on the sofa, scaring a few first-years. They walked by with their eyes covered, whispering amongst themselves.

“Stop it, you two,” Harry said. “Honestly. You’re scaring the first-years.”

“We are not!” Ron tried to stand, but Hermione had a leg crossed over his lap.

“Hmm. Okay,” Harry said. “I’m ready.”

"I'm not," Ron said. 

"Get a move on, then," Harry said. Honestly, they should just get married and leave school. He shook his head, then determined he would mention it later to Ron. He'd end up red and sputtering, but Harry knew that was what Ron wanted; he might as well do it. Get the proposal out of the way, and hell, Harry was even willing to lend him the money for a nice ring. Anything to get the pair of them to see what everyone else saw. Harry knew he wasn't the cleverest bloke, but he knew true love when he saw it. They were it. Unless Hermione had kept in touch with Krum for all those years... Harry chuckled. Things could be different, if that had been so. 

Harry took his bag and left the common room. He needed a break already from his friends. He loved them to bits, but them being in love made them act like idiots. Wandering the hallways of the old castle felt good. It felt like longer than a year since he'd taken the path down the stairs to the library, but he had time to kill and he wanted to make some progress in his studies. He needed to sometime. No time like the present. 

When he reached the library, he looked around. No one was sitting at the tables yet, apart from one studious-looking young witch. Harry went to the desk and asked Madam Pince where the books on Aurors were. He went where she directed and pulled a book from the bookcase. He had time before meeting Ron and Hermione at the Ravenclaw entrance. 

 

****

**Chapter 2**

Draco perused the shelves in the library, but couldn’t find what he needed. The girl had told him to find a ‘cookery book'. There didn’t seem to be any in the main part of the library. He turned around and scanned the room. Ah. Just who he needed. Potter would know where to look. If he would even speak to Draco. But Draco had a plan: approach Potter, say something to the idiot, then get him to do the work for him. He frowned, thinking about that option. Manipulation wouldn’t work. He needed to be direct, or simply ask for help. The circuitous way had never worked with Potter. He bolstered his courage and approached Potter with a smile.

“Hello, Potter.”

Potter didn’t look up from his book. “Malfoy. What do you want?”

“Who says I want anything?”

Potter looked at him. “You’re smiling. I doubt you’re happy to see me.”

Draco didn’t let the brush-off get under his skin. “Perhaps. I actually need your help.”

Potter’s jaw dropped. “You what?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “I need your help.”

Potter smiled, then began to laugh. Draco frowned. He had ‘orders’ to promote House unity. That was what he was doing - trying to do. Here Potter was laughing at him like he'd told some hilarious joke. 

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“Not at all. Imagine, I need your help.”

“Oh, this is a first. What do you need, Malfoy?”

Draco didn’t take offence to Potter’s response. It was ridiculous, but Draco had no other options. Only his Housemates would talk to him, apart from that Mud- Muggleborn girl in Hufflepuff who said she liked his smile.

“I’m looking for a book.”

“Shouldn’t you ask Hermione for help with that?” Potter asked.

“I think she’s a little busy with Weasley.” He turned to look down a row of bookcases. Potter’s gaze followed. He sighed.

“Bloody hell.” Potter sighed. “Alright. What book are you looking for?”

“A cookery book.”

Potter’s mouth opened, then closed. “A cookery book. A Muggle book?”

“Yes. Is it so difficult to believe?”

“A bit, yeah. It’s with the Muggle Studies books. You’ve been looking in all of the magical books.” Potter looked at him, weighing him with his gaze. Draco felt his face getting hot. It was strange to be under Potter's gaze like that. “Fine. I’ll take you.”

“Thank you, Potter.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Potter got up and closed the book he was reading. Draco read the title: ‘Aurors: A History of the Ministry’s Elite Law Enforcement'. Interesting, Draco decided. He also knew that Potter knew how to cook. Perhaps... no. That wouldn’t work. They could never get on well enough for Potter to _teach_ him how to cook. No. He needed to learn on his own. 

“It’s this way, Malfoy.”

Draco followed him to the Muggle Studies section. He realised he had never been in it before. They walked down rows of bookcases, toward the back of the library. "So, you want to be an Auror?"

"What?" Potter asked, not looking back.

"The book you were reading. It was the History of Aurors."

"Oh, yeah. That." Potter sighed. "Honestly, I don't know."

"I've thought about being an Unspeakable. If this other... path I'm on doesn't work out."

"Oh?"

"It's nothing. Just trying something new."

"And it clearly has to do with cookery books." Potter laughed. “You have to know where to look. Why not just ask Madam Pince?”

“You looked like you needed a break.”

“Me? No.”

“You hurt yourself if you concentrate for too long.”

Draco continued, then hit what felt like a wall. He stopped and looked down at Potter. 

“Malfoy, I’m not playing games. If you want my help, treat me like a bloody human being.”

Draco didn’t gape. Potter seemed different. “Yes, of course.” Draco held out his arm and gestured. “Please continue.”

Potter turned and nodded. He stopped at the back of the library, turned left, then stopped again. “Here. Cookery books, computer books... you can find anything.”

“Thank you, Potter.”

Potter shrugged. “Yeah. No worries.” He pointed to the books Draco had been dying to get his hands on. Cookery... three tomes full of English, French, and Italian foods. He smiled and pulled all of them, stacking them in the crook of his arm. He held them close.

“Got everything you need, then?” Potter asked, his expression blank. Draco didn't know what to do with that. Then again, he didn't know what to do with his Housemates, either. They had all been in a similar position during the war, but now... left to their own devices, they kept themselves to themselves. 

“Yes, thank you.”

Potter frowned. “Malfoy...”

Draco ran his thumb along the edge of the bottom book in the stack. “Yes?”

Potter shook his head. “Nothing. Never mind.” He left without another word. Draco didn’t mind; he wanted to get back to the dorm and read the English cookery book. He could sneak out later and go to the kitchen. The silly Hufflepuff girl had shown him how to get into the kitchen: tickling a pear... amazing what secrets Hogwarts hid.

With his hands full, Draco took the three books to Madam Pince and stood with his back straight, nose up, and his shoulders back. He dared her to question his choice in books, or remind him that he wasn’t in Muggle Studies. But she didn’t comment. Draco remained relieved not to have to explain himself. 

“Two weeks, Malfoy.”

“Yes, Madam Pince.”

Draco gathered the books from the desk and went to the dorms, satisfied. 

 

****

**Chapter 3**

Harry needed a break from Ron and Hermione. All night in the common room, they had been… basically shagging in front of everyone. Like anyone bought the blanket across them and Ron’s face being so red he stood out even more. Then there were the little sighs and moans. Bloody idiots.

It was after curfew, but Harry didn’t want to hear about Ron and Hermione. They had switched Houses, like they were supposed to, and now everything was back to normal. Until next weekend.

Harry frowned. The whole thing with Malfoy the day before had just been… odd. Since when did he fancy Muggle cooking or cookery books? What could he honestly use them for? Perhaps he was up to something. Harry had to find out what. He pulled the Marauder’s Map from his robes and whispered the words that brought the map to life, and searched for Malfoy. Harry frowned. _Where might you be, Malfoy?_ He saw Ron and Hermione still in the common room. He looked at Slytherin, but Malfoy didn’t stand out there. Then he flipped the map up. _Gotcha!_

Strange, Malfoy was in the kitchen. Even stranger, Malfoy had Luna Lovegood with him, and some other girl Harry didn’t know. “That’s enough of that.” Harry sped down the hallways, avoiding the still-employed Filch and his bloody cat. It didn’t take him long. He tickled the pear and opened the door slowly. He heard voices. Luna, Malfoy, and someone he didn’t recognise. 

“What the bloody hell is going on in here?” Harry demanded, closing the door behind him.

The three of them stopped. Malfoy held a wooden spoon in one hand and a large mixing bowl in the other.

The smell of oil burning permeated Harry’s senses. “Oil’s burning, Malfoy.”

“Bugger.” He turned to the cooker and opened the door. Smoke poured out, and the oil spit from the pan as he took it out and placed it on the worktop.

“If you must know, Potter, I’m making what the Muggles call ‘Toad in the Hole’.”

“You’re what? The whole cookery-books thing wasn’t just some… ruse?”

“No, of course not. This is Sarah. We met in Hufflepuff over the weekend and she introduced me to cooking.”

Harry gaped. “Sarah… you did what, now?”

“She is teaching me how to cook like a Muggle.”

“Why?” Harry felt bad the moment he asked it: the question sounded stupid, naive, and accusatory.

“Because I…” Malfoy took a beat. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, Potter.”

“No. But, cooking? Honestly?”

Draco glared. He looked like he wanted to thwack Harry on the side of the head. His nostrils flared and then he looked defeated. “It’s become a hobby, if you must know, Potter.” The words came out slow, methodical, as though Malfoy had weighed and measured each one before coming to the conclusion that Harry wouldn’t crack a joke.

“I don’t need to know. I just… wow. You and Muggle cooking. You know… I could…” Harry looked down. He had no idea why he was thinking of offering to help. Malfoy had been nothing but a git to him for the last seven years, even if he had saved his life. But something he remembered about cooking bringing people together, made him stop. “I could… help, too.”

“Oh?” Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “No jokes? Just… an offer to help?”

“Yeah, why not? I cooked for my family—” Harry paused. “Look, I do know my way around a kitchen. And you’re going to ruin that if you don’t pour the batter into the pan.” Harry approached. “Look, you have to pour it in when it’s bubbling hot. And you need to be using a whisk, not a wooden spoon. The spoon doesn’t get the bubbles and bits of flour the same way. Ugh. Let me show you.”

Harry took the batter from Malfoy, grabbed the sausages and began to mix everything together. “Don’t overcook it. The sausage will be more cardboard than meat.” Harry had been careful to show Malfoy exactly what to do. Now, if he didn’t bollocks it up with overcooking it, he’d be fine.

“You… you do know what you’re doing.”

“Yeah, Malfoy. I said that.”

“Potter… Sarah can only help so much. And Luna—”

“Hello, Harry,” she said, as though just noticing him, or the sound of her name kicked her brain into listening mode.

“Luna.”

“Luna can’t make out a what’s-it-called… a wharsk from a spatzle.”

“I think you mean whisk and spatula.”

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

Harry shook his head. “No, but you’ll get it eventually. Do you know the difference between a spatula and a whisk?”

“Of course I do,” Malfoy said, and picked it from the utensils laid out. 

Harry laughed. He laughed so hard his stomach ached. “I’ll teach you. On one condition.”

Malfoy measured him. “What’s that?”

“You can’t make jokes, snide comments, or act like a git. Those cookery books can only teach you so much.”

Malfoy looked at his shoes. “Alright.” He held out his hand, reminiscent of Harry’s first year. Only this time he took it, wondering if it meant they might actually become friends or whether things would return to normal as soon as Malfoy got what he wanted. “It’s a deal.”

Harry nodded. “Alright. We’ll start tomorrow night. Meet me at ten.”

Malfoy seemed pleased. He smiled, but it wasn’t bright or friendly; it wasn’t menacing, either. Just a plain smile that Harry had never seen in this context. 

“Your Toad in the Hole is burning, Malfoy.” 

Malfoy’s expression fell and he rushed to the cooker. He opened the door and a plume of smoke like a Dementor exited. Harry laughed. “Maybe a little too ambitious for the first time?”

“Shut it, Potter.”

Harry laughed again. “See you tomorrow.”

****

**Chapter 4**

Draco frowned at the disaster in front of him. The sausages were dark and crispy, the batter had become blackened. He sighed. He thought he had everything under control. Even with Potter’s help. Dismayed, he took a fork and shovelled the disaster into the bin. He sighed. It was his first time… he didn’t expect perfection, but he hadn’t expected failure, either. He tidied up the kitchen, gathered up the cookery book, and went back to his dorm. Maybe he had just tried something with minutia he hadn’t grasped yet. Or maybe he had bollocksed it up by missing a step.

He sat the book on his bed, tapped it with his wand, and thought about simple recipes. The book pages flipped and lay open on a Sponge Sandwich. He squinted at it, curious. Merlin! He hoped he didn’t need glasses, now. Then he stopped, realised that Potter hadn’t been wearing his glasses. Hadn’t been wearing them any time he had seen Potter. How strange, he thought. Perhaps he had got his vision fixed. He had to admit that it made Potter look less like a teenager and more like a man. Even his hair hadn’t been an absolute disaster. Strange, Draco mused, that Potter would look so decent, especially after a war, losing family… Not that Draco hadn’t done, too. His mother was a waif compared to the woman she once was. Draco hadn’t seen his father since he had testified at the trial. He shook his head, letting his thoughts jumble like so many puzzle pieces. He didn’t need to think about that right now. 

Draco read the recipe for Parkin and decided he was going to make it. Fingers and all. Even though the thought disgusted him – only slightly. A distorted, inelegant thought surfaced. Draco felt green, but shook it off like cobwebs from a catacomb. He didn’t need to think of Potter that way, even if he looked better than he had before the war. Bloody hell. 

Yawning, Draco stuck a slip of parchment between the pages of the cookery book before settling into bed.

+++++

All through lessons, Draco thought about baking. And Potter. The two mingled in his mind like eggs folded into flour. Even at dinner, he couldn’t help glancing across the room where Potter sat with Weasley and Granger. The female Weasley wasn’t with them. Odd. She had hung on Potter’s every word before. Something he would have to ask about. Draco cringed. The thought of licking oatmeal, treacle, and flour off Potter’s fingers made him think things he’d never entertained. He hadn’t had time for sex and girls, not with his father’s expectations. Not with a war going on. Now, he seemed to have jumped from virgin to needing to be shagged like a shooting star.

“Draco?”

He looked toward the voice. “Yes?”

“Are you alright?” Luna asked. 

“Of course.”

“You have Nargles in your hair. And your face is a tad green.”

Draco shrugged. “I’m brilliant, Lovegood.”

“Shall I join you and Harry in the kitchen?”

“No.” He answered faster than he’d intended. Damn it.

“Are you sure? I can help you keep the Nargles from cooking in whatever you’re making.”

“It’s alright, Lovegood. We’ll be fine.”

“Okay. If you insist. Ta-ta for now.” She danced away towards Potter’s table and sat down, a smile on her face that spoke of secrets. Draco refused to look across the Great Hall any more. But he glanced one more time; Potter smiled and continued chewing. Draco looked at his food and carried on eating. He had to get his head together. It was small things he’d noticed. Things that could be explained by a question, but Draco knew if he wanted to know about Potter, Potter would want to know about him. For that, he wasn’t prepared. 

After dinner, Draco completed his assignments. He sat alone in the common room; it emptied when he was around. His own House couldn’t stand him, and he had just been trying to protect his family, like everyone else. But he’d been on the wrong side. Knowing that then hadn’t changed the consequences of his actions or need for them. He was doing well, apart from making new friends. His mates hadn’t been invited back to Hogwarts, even though Draco had been instrumental in the Death Eaters breaking into the school, and more deaths than he cared to count. He stared at the empty fireplace and let his mind wander. He still had a few hours to kill before meeting Potter.

+++++

“Potter.”

Potter looked at Draco and smiled. “I think it’s about time we called each other by our first names, don’t you?”

Draco felt cornered. His disturbing thoughts aside, he didn’t know if he could handle that sort of intimacy with Potter yet.

“Alright, fine. We’ll work up to it.” Potter smiled again. “So, what have you got there?”

Shifting the cookery book in his arms, Draco opened it to where the slip of parchment rested. “I like this one.”

“Alright. I suggest we start with something simple, though.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Let’s scramble some eggs.”

Potter collected the ingredients and laid everything on the worktop. “First, you need to know what everything is. Eggs are obvious. But you need to know _how_ to use them.” Draco nodded. “You can also use a fork for the eggs, but a whisk works better. In my opinion.”

Bowls were easy. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen them, sneaking down to his own kitchen to make a midnight snack. “Are you going to show me both ways?”

“Yes.”

Potter… Harry… held his attention. 

“Alright, so we crack the egg on the side of the bowl, like this.” He demonstrated. “Oops. Little bit of shell in the bowl. Pick that bit out. No one wants crunchy eggs.”

He sounded amused. Draco found himself leaning towards Potter as he watched. “Now, you take the fork, and do this.” Again, he demonstrated the movement. It looked like he was stirring and folding the liquid at the same time. It went from clear and yellow to a solid yellow. “That’s how it should look. D’you want to try?”

Draco nodded. Pott— Harry extended a bowl. Draco reached across him, brushing his chest, and collected an egg. Then he picked up a fork and followed Pott— Harry’s directions. “How do you know when it’s ready?”

“When it looks like mine. Mostly yellow. Just whip it for a minute or so. Then see how it looks.”

Following Harry’s directions, Draco began whipping the egg until it became yellow. He smiled, pleased that he’d done it.

“Good job. Now, put a pat of butter in the frying pan, heat it until it melts, and pour the eggs in. This one is the frying pan. The big, round flat one. Hold the handle so you don’t burn yourself. Now, when the eggs start to ‘harden’ start whipping them.”

Entranced, Draco did what Harry said, using his fork to scramble the eggs. Now the name made sense to him. He was careful.

“Alright, you want the heat to be steady, not too hot. It’ll burn otherwise.”

Draco nodded. He watched. “How do I know if it’s burnt?”

Harry stifled a laugh. “The way yours is turning a bit brown on the bottom. You have to keep moving it around. Let the egg settle a bit before you… scramble it. Here. I’ll show you.”

Harry took over, moving deftly through the kitchen. He gathered up another frying pan, put it on the cooker and began the same way Draco had. Only he swirled the eggs constantly. He let it sit for a moment, then swirl it again. Draco watched. It never browned, not like his eggs. 

“Here. Plate yours and try it.” Harry handed him a plate.

Following Harry’s lead, he did as he was told. Oddly reassured by the direction. Perhaps he could get used to this: following Harry’s lead in the kitchen. He wanted much more than just following his directions. He wanted to make the food and have Pott— Harry praise him. Odd. He had never thought of himself as the sort of person who needed praise, but right now, he needed it. In his bones, he felt the desire. 

“Can I try yours?” Harry asked.

Draco held the plate out. “Sure.”

Harry took a forkful and gobbled it up. “Mm. Not bad. Now, you can add milk, or salt and pepper. Anything you want, really. But, yes, I know, you want to bake Parkin. Let me see your cookery book.”

Harry flipped through the pages and stopped on one. “Here. Shepherd’s Pie. That can be your first bit of baking. Have a look.”

Draco read the ingredients and details on preparation. It wasn’t a dessert, but it still required baking, so it was a start. “Shall we start tonight?” Draco was hopeful, though doubt creeped in. 

Harry nodded. “I reckon so.” 

****

**Chapter 5**

Harry stumbled up the stairs to the common room. It was the third week in a row that he had met Draco in the kitchen at night, teaching him, and watching him become a better baker each day. The only thing that had been an unmitigated disaster had been the blackened Yorkshire Puds. But Harry resolved to teach him how to make them properly, even though Draco seemed obsessed with making Parkin. Not that Harry minded. He loved treacle. Had even told Draco as much. There had been lots of conversation, mostly about lessons. They steered clear of the war like it was poison. Harry didn’t mind. He didn’t want to talk about last year as part of casual conversation. He had seen a therapist during the summer – a Healer at St Mungo’s – to talk about everything. He had resolved most of his issues during those sessions. Sometimes he was still angry and couldn’t explain why. But it wasn’t as bad as when he had had Voldemort in his head all the time. He even got on with Professor Slughorn. He was still pants at Potions, but he did his best. He was surprised, considering he could cook. It was so similar, just following the directions. Potions was an exact science. At least in cooking, he could change something, a flavour, a measurement… He always seemed heavy-handed in Potions. Which was why it didn’t surprise him how well Draco did in the kitchen.

“Harry.”

He stopped in the common room. “Yeah?”

“Where have you been?” Hermione demanded. “It’s been days of you coming back late. I hope you’re being careful.”

“Hermione, not now. I just want to go to bed.”

“You’re going to fail your NEWTs if you keep this up all year.”

“It’s none of your business, really.”

She huffed. “Fine. You’ll never be an Auror this way.”

“And what if I don’t want to be an Auror?”

She gaped. “You’ve wanted to be one for ages. What’s changed?”

“Me. Maybe I’m tired of fighting. Aren’t you?”

She hummed. “Being an Auror isn’t the same as the war, Harry.”

“I know that, Hermione. I’m just… doing something I enjoy. Teaching someone something useful to them. You wouldn’t approve, so don’t ask who.”

Hermione sighed. “Alright.” She took a beat. “Are you doing this to avoid me and Ron?”

Harry laughed. “Is it _that_ obvious?”

“Yes.” She sounded like a hammer thunking wood.

“Just, trust me. I can take care of myself. No one is getting hurt. No harm in what I’m doing.”

“Alright. Well, goodnight, Harry.”

Yawning, he bade Hermione goodnight and ran up the stairs to the dorm. He cast a spell, and the time appeared above him. _Damn. 0230_ He spent more time with Draco these days than his own friends. Draco was obsessive, but meticulous. There had only ever been two things in his life that he had obsessed over: Draco and Voldemort. He felt that same obsession surfacing, the way Draco hung on his every word about cooking. He found himself staring into Draco’s eyes, wondering if they had always been so grey, like puffy clouds after the rain; watching his fingers as he taste-tested what he’d just cooked; watching the expression on his face while he tasted brown sauce for the first time. He couldn’t shake it. He’d had the urge to lick the stray brown sauce off Draco’s lips when they’d made the bacon butty. 

Harry smiled and lay down. Then his eyes widened and his stomach flipped: he was attracted to Draco Malfoy. It wasn’t a bad thing. It was different. He had never met a bloke who intrigued him. He had been attracted to some older men during the summer and experimented a little. He had learned very quickly he didn’t like being shagged. But after Ginny… he had been willing to try anything. Anything to heal or numb his broken heart. Now, she wasn’t even a dull ache in his chest. She was just another person in the school, one he spoke to in passing between lessons, and that didn’t merit more than a smile. Draco made him smile often. It was like this new-found common ground had brought them together. 

Even when they swapped Houses at the weekend, and Harry had been in Slytherin for the first time, he had snuck out to cook with Draco. The rotation had changed a lot over the weeks, but Harry had also sat down with the girl Sarah who Draco had met in Hufflepuff, and they had talked about how Draco’s desire to cook had come about. He smiled. Harry vowed to get Draco’s skills up to snuff before Christmas.

+++++

Harry smiled at Draco across the Great Hall. Hermione gave him a look; he ignored it. Ron, dense as ever, didn’t notice the smile in return from Draco. Harry grinned, excited by his secret. They weren’t doing anything wrong. Apart from staying out too late. But they were adults, and if they got caught, Harry reckoned he could explain it away to Professor McGonagall. It was a practice in House unity, after all. He grew more excited each day he worked with Draco. Now that they had been at it for a while, he reckoned – maybe – that they might get closer, actually be friends. He finished his treacle tart and told Hermione and Ron he’d meet them in the common room later. They waved goodbye, and he went off to the library for a bit. Time to kill, and idle hands were the devil’s playthings, or so he’d always heard. Though he was doubting becoming an Auror and leaning towards teaching, he picked up a book on Defence Against the Dark Arts. Perhaps there was something new to learn. Dumbledore’s Army was defunct, but he still liked to duel when he had the opportunity. He knew that it would be difficult to teach, but he would learn. Not everyone was perfect at their first job. Harry also knew that with his experience, he might be considered by the Headmistress as a suitable choice for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post. Their current professor reminded him of Quirrell, with his quirks and absentmindedness. This one at least didn’t have Voldemort possessing him.

For hours, Harry flipped through various books. When Madam Pince “ahemed” in the style of Professor Umbridge, he put the books away and headed back to the common room.

“Hey,” Harry said to Ron and Hermione. Seamus had returned, but he rarely spoke to Harry. Same with a lot of his other Housemates. 

“Harry! Where have you been?” Hermione asked.

“Library.”

Ron snorted. “What were you doing in there?”

“Reading, Ron. That’s what one tends to do in a library.”

Ron shook his head. “We do enough reading as it is.”

“Harry, did you complete your assignment for Potions?” Hermione asked, thankfully changing the subject.

“Not yet. But I will later. I’ve got Defence Against the Dark Arts to do.”

“You really should start Potions first. It’s not easy.”

“Nothing in Potions ever is,” Harry said.

“Oh, Harry! You need to take these NEWTs seriously,” Hermione opined.

“Hermione, I am. I’m just… taking on some new hobbies.”

Hermione huffed. “Fine. They wouldn’t happen to be hobbies with Malfoy, would they?”

Harry felt his face turn to fire. “It’s none of your business.”

“I saw you two looking at each other in the Great Hall.”

“Hermione, drop it.”

 

“Mate, Malfoy?” Ron queried in his usual ‘I’m only paying half attention to what you’re saying, but I caught Malfoy’s name, so I’m going to respond now’ way.

“I’m teaching someone something they want to learn. House unity. What does it matter who it is?”

“Because, you know Malfoy. He’s always up to something,” Ron said.

“No, not this time. I don’t think he has anything left to do to try to hurt me.”

“You should still be careful, Harry,” Hermione said, and rested her hand on his shoulder. “Change doesn’t happen overnight, especially for someone like him.”

“Look, he’s an outcast, as much as I am. At least we have that in common. I mean, either people are in awe or afraid of me, like Seamus! I’m sick to the back teeth of it. I just want a normal friendship that isn’t interrupted by you two snogging every moment you get. So lay off. Draco’s been decent. All he wants to learn is how to cook. So I’m teaching him. It’s not like there’s some evil plan in cooking Yorkshire Puddings, unless he plans to poison them while I’m eating them.”

Hermione pursed her lips. “Don’t joke about that, Harry.”

“I’m not looking for laughs. I enjoy doing it. Shouldn’t that be enough for you two?”

“Of course,” Hermione said. “You’re right. We’re supposed to be promoting House unity… What better way than you and Malfoy to be friends…?”

“Exactly.”

“I still think it’s fishy,” Ron said. “He could stab you with a knife, or burn you, or something else, just to get back at you for his dad.”

“I testified at his trial, if you remember. Lucius Malfoy was terrified of Voldemort. Remember?” 

“But—”

“Ron, Harry’s right. I don’t think Lucius Malfoy was impressed when Voldemort returned. Don’t you remember what their Manor looked like when the snatchers took us?”

“Yeah.”

“And they paid their reparations. Draco did his penance.” Hermione thought for a moment. “Maybe it’s time to put the past in the past. Make an effort. Malfoy has no friends here. They’re all in Azkaban or dead, or weren’t invited to return. That can’t be easy for him.”

“What about us, and what we lost?” Ron fumed. “Fred is dead. Bellatrix almost killed my mum.”

“Stop!” Harry shouted. “I’m doing this, with or without your support. Think what you will, but Draco’s different. More… submissive. Or something. He takes directions, follows them, and makes whatever I teach him. And it’s fun. So just back off.”

Ron and Hermione looked chastised. 

“Alright, mate, but don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”

“Noted, Ron.”

“Are you going to finish this assignment for Defence Against the Dark Arts or sit around arguing all night?”

The pair of them sighed. “Assignment it is,” Hermione said.

****

**Chapter 6**

Draco inhaled. A warm, savoury scent filled the air. He smelt the oil, the batter… waiting for Harry had become annoying, so he started on the Yorkshire Puddings again.

The door opened. “Sorry, I know; I’m late.” He stopped. “Is that Yorkshire Pudding?”

“Yes. It’s been in for about ten minutes.”

“Smells delightful,” Harry said. “Was finishing an assignment for Defence Against the Dark Arts. It took longer than expected.” 

“It’s alright, Pott— Harry.”

Harry smiled. “Remember, don’t open the cooker. It’ll let all of the heat out. I reckon these’ll come out really well. You did well last time.”

“Thank you. You’ve been… a good teacher.”

Harry smiled, and Draco mirrored his expression. “Can we try the Parkin tonight?”

“Yeah. Why are you so determined to make Parkin?”

Draco took a beat and said, “I want to make it for the entire school for Christmas.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, Pott— Harry. I want… I want to give something back. It’s not much, but it seems to be what I can do.”

“An apology, then?”

“No— yes. Not exactly. I want them… I want them to accept me. See me as human.”

Harry paused. Draco, honest, vulnerable, made him think – things he shouldn’t think. “That’s… I know the feeling.”

“It’s been difficult, being back. The war changed everything. Including a lot of my previous thoughts about… well, a lot of things. Even the last few weeks have… made me question… _things_ ,” Draco said. 

Harry nodded. “So, can I ask you a personal question?”

Draco looked at Harry. “Alright.”

“Do you like being… led?” Harry’s voice broke a little, his face reddening. 

Draco felt his face burst into flames. “Led? What do you mean by led?”

“You know… taking directions from someone else.”

The feeling like he was on fire increased. Draco looked around the kitchen. To answer or not to answer. “It’s— It’s been ingrained in me, yes. To follow someone stronger.”

“Do you… like that?” Harry’s words were careful, Draco noted.

Draco cleared his throat. “It’s… reassuring at times.” He didn’t like being so exposed. Talking about his preference with Harry was nice. He had never told anyone directly that he liked being told what to do in certain circumstances. His whole life he’d been told what to do, what to think. Harry didn’t look at him that way, not from what he could see. He just seemed inquisitive. Honest. Sincere. And too bloody observant. They had been working together for weeks. Draco knew he had given things away during that time. He hung on Harry’s words like a fish from a hook – only less painful. Draco respected knowledge, and he knew Harry could teach. He had heard of Dumbledore’s Army in their fifth year. When he had been part of Umbridge’s Inquisitorial squad, he, Crabbe, and Goyle had spent weeks trying to find them. Draco knew himself well enough to know he gravitated towards power. Harry was different, more powerful than ever, politically and magically. He wasn’t the Boy Who Lived any more. He was the Man Who Slayed Voldemort. People listened to him. Asked for his opinions. 

“Draco, can I ask you something else?”

Draco nodded. 

“Is it the same for _everything_ in your life?”

‘Everything?’ Draco considered. The only place he hadn’t determined his predilections was in the bedroom. He couldn’t admit that he had fantasised about Harry doing… _things_ to him. Not yet. “I suppose,” he admitted. He wasn’t going to tell Harry that he was drawn to power, influence… but Harry had sussed that out, with his line of questioning. 

“Mm.” Harry looked at the cooker. “It’s ready.”

Draco rushed to the cooker with oven mitts and took the Yorkshire Puddings out. He laid the pan on the worktop and looked at the golden and fluffy puddings. He smiled. They had risen more this time. He was pleased. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder. Then stiffened. He didn’t shrug it off. 

“Those look… perfect, Draco.” Heat and warmth blew against his ear. “You’re a natural baker.” Harry’s voice was low, like he was telling Draco a secret. 

“Ahem, yes, well…” Draco felt the hand leave his shoulder, but he couldn’t relax. He wanted the hand back, and to hear Harry’s praise again. It was like he was starved for the attention Harry gave like he’d never eaten a satisfying meal. “Yes. They do look delicious. Would you like one?”

Draco turned and brushed against Harry.

“Yeah.”

Careful, so as not to break the pudding, Draco wiggled one out for Harry and one for himself. Harry blew on his and broke it apart, steam pouring out like smoke. He took a bite and hummed his approval. “I’m blown away.”

Pleased, he broke his own open. “Our conversation… doesn’t leave the room.” Draco looked at Harry, who nodded. 

“Alright. I’m just trying to get to know you. All we’ve done is talk about lessons, and I see how you are in here. I’m sorry if I was being too intimate.”

“It’s quite alright, Harry. I agree, discussing lessons has a tendency to be rather tedious.”

Harry tried to chew _and_ smile.

Harry’s voice cut his thoughts like shards of a broken glass. “You ready to try that Parkin?”

“Of course.”

Draco read the cookery-book directions, gathered his supplies from the larder and set them out on the worktop. He turned the dial on the cooker to the correct temperature, waiting for Harry to tell him he had done something wrong. The disapproval never came. Draco was pleased, like savouring a lovely tart. 

Harry picked up the cookery book and began to read. He spoke with authority, correcting mistakes as Draco made them. He anticipated as well. Directing Draco to add one ingredient, and another, and another. 

“Now, mix it with your fingers…”

Draco’s face heated. He imagined he was running his hands across Harry’s skin, tracing a hot line from his sternum to his cock. 

“You don’t have to be delicate.”

“Oh. I didn’t realise…” Draco shook his head and continued mixing. The treacle and oatmeal flowed around his fingers. He knew Harry fancied treacle. He’d read it in one of the many books about him. 

“Okay, I think it’s ready,” Harry said. Draco looked at him and removed his fingers from the mix of treacle, oatmeal— 

Harry approached him and took hold of the hand he had been mixing with. “Mm.” He pulled Draco’s fingers towards his mouth and closed his lips around them. Draco’s cock throbbed. Harry’s tongue slid along his fingers and circled them. Draco was helpless and horrified. He was hard and aching, and Harry treated his fingers like they were Draco’s cock. _Stop. No, don’t stop. Yes, you should stop. This is indelicate._

“Ha— Harry.”

Green eyes turned to his, his concentration broken. He inched Draco’s fingers out of the clutches of his mouth. “Er, sorry.” Harry dropped his hand. “I couldn’t help myself.”

Draco cleared his throat. “That’s quite alright.” The words were stiff, a tree amongst the grass of their earlier, easier conversation. 

They maintained a semi-comfortable silence between directions from Harry. Draco listened, but he didn’t attempt further conversation. Harry seemed contrite, and Draco couldn’t chastise Harry for what he’d done. Draco had been willing something to happen, ever since he felt the puff of breath on his ear. Harry fancied him. He fancied Harry. Why had it become so complicated?

Draco checked the time. The Parkin was ready to come out of the cooker. He pulled it out and set it aside on a cooling rack.

_Bugger. I’m in trouble._

“Harry… I think we need to take a break. Just for a few weeks.”

“Oh. Alright. If you like. Draco, if I offended you, I’m sorry.”

“No. No. You didn’t offend me.”

“Okay. Upset you?”

“Not at all. I’m just… I don’t know what to do with what just happened.”

Harry watched him. “Have you not worked out that I fancy you?” he asked.

Draco stared. “You fancy me?”

“Yeah. But I’ll give you some space. Let you work out what you want.”

Draco nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

****

**Epilogue**

> Harry, meet me in the kitchen tonight.  
>  -Draco

Harry put the parchment aside and leaned back in his chair. He wondered what might be on Draco’s mind, especially since they had only seen each other in passing, or in the Great Hall. Harry had missed him. He had missed cooking with him. Harry also respected that he had gone too far the last time they had been together. The fire in the hearth glowed, and Harry watched the flames lick at the wood and air. He had already been receiving presents from family and friends. Maybe Draco was ready to make the Parkin for the entire school and needed help? Harry thought for a moment. He knew what he’d like for Christmas from Draco. Assuming that had anything to do with their meeting in the kitchen later. Harry had an idea, and he hoped it worked out.

+++++

“Draco.” Harry smelt his favourite cake from the cooker. Draco looked like he hadn’t slept much. It was reminiscent of their sixth year, when Harry had hurt him. Which now, thinking about the whole thing, made him lose some of the burgeoning excitement he had felt at seeing Draco again.

“Hello, Harry,” he said. “I’ve been baking for days. I wanted it to be perfect.”

Harry smiled. “May I try a piece?”

Draco nodded and ushered him toward the worktop. “Here. These have cooled.” 

Harry accepted the proffered cake and took a bite. He moaned and his eyes rolled back at the flavour. He loved the texture, the treacle, everything. “This is delicious.”

Draco beamed, and Harry felt his stomach flip. He’d never seen that expression on Draco before. 

“Did you ask the Headmistress if they would serve the Parkin at dinner tonight?”

“Yes. She was oddly pleased, especially when I told her that you taught me.”

Harry nodded. “I’m sure. I’m glad that she approved it.”

“Me as well.” He sounded relieved. 

“So… did you have enough time to work out what you wanted?”

Draco’s face reddened. “Yes.”

“Do you fancy me, too?”

Draco nodded, pale face still on fire. 

“Okay. Good. What are you doing for Christmas?”

Draco looked flummoxed. “Nothing. I’ll be here.”

“You don’t have to be… you’re welcome to stay at Grimmauld Place with me. I know going home might be a little… stressful. But we could spend some time alone together. Get to know each other better.”

“Really?” Draco frowned. “What’s the catch?”

Harry smiled. “Well, there’s no catch, but I wouldn’t mind… sleeping with you. You know? Spend the night. And see where things go.”

“You wouldn’t mind?” Draco frowned still. Harry could see the cogs and wheels of his thoughts as he sifted through them like an archaeologist. 

“Of course not. It’s my house now. Sirius left it to me. You could invite your mum for Christmas dinner. We could make it together.”

Draco looked askew at him. “No house elves?”

“No. I don’t have one. So I might need to tidy up a bit. But, yeah. I’d love if you’d stay with me.”

“Alright.” Draco smiled. “Yes. I think that’ll do nicely.”

“Do you want me to help with the rest of this?”

“No. This is something I have to do on my own.”

“I understand.” Harry reached out but stopped. “I’ve missed you.”

Draco nodded. “I did you as well. And you can touch me. I… I’m not going to freak out like before.”

“No?” Harry asked, realising it was a stupid question. He lifted his arm and rested his hand on Draco’s shoulder, rubbing the back with his thumb. It was nice to touch Draco and him not feel stiff and uneasy. 

“That… feels nice,” Draco admitted.

“There’s a lot more I can do that feels nice,” Harry said, and slid his hand from Draco’s shoulder to his cheek. He cupped it and stroked the sharp bone with his thumb. “Come here.”

Draco’s gaze left the worktop and landed on Harry’s. He obeyed. Harry shifted to accommodate the change in position. He never took his hand away from Draco’s cheek.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for months.” Harry leaned forward and stood on the tip of his toes, closing his eyes. “Kiss me.”

Draco altered his position and his lips met Harry’s.

Harry felt the heat in his cock, in his lips, in the room. Their mouths remained together for a few beats, and Harry licked Draco’s bottom lip. Draco moaned, and Harry pulled away. His brain still worked, for the most part, and he also wanted to tempt Draco by not giving too much away too soon. Knowing what he did about Draco, he recognised that he had to be careful. Draco would do anything he said, and he didn’t want to take advantage.

“You taste like treacle,” Draco whispered. 

Harry smiled. “Not a big surprise. You alright?”

“Yeah. That was nice.”

“Want to do it again?” Harry asked. Draco looked at him, searching. Harry realised why and said, “I want to do it again.”

Draco nodded and met him in the middle. Harry kissed Draco again, then whispered against his lips, “Open your mouth a little.”

Draco obeyed. Harry stuck his tongue out and searched for Draco’s. The heat! Harry slid his tongue against Draco’s and tilted his head to the side. This, he knew how to do. “Use your tongue against mine,” Harry said into Draco’s mouth. Draco obeyed again, running his tongue around Harry’s, mirroring his previous movement. Harry moaned, and pulled Draco closer to him. The kitchen felt like they stood in a hearth. Harry couldn’t breathe. Draco moaned. Harry's cock was getting hard, and he felt Draco’s erection against his hip.

He had to pull away. Even though he didn’t want to. “Oh, that was… wow.” Harry smoothed his hands down Draco’s back, and rested them on his hips.

Draco looked dazed. 

“You alright?” Harry asked.

Draco blinked, eyelids heavy, based on how slow it was. “Yeah. I’m… great.”

Harry nodded with a smile. “We’ll do it again. I promise. I don’t want you to ruin the Parkin.” 

Draco smiled, looking a bit drunk. “Yeah.”

“Alright, tomorrow after dinner, meet me in the Great Hall. I’ll take you Side-Along to my house.”

“Right. Of course.”

Harry smiled and reluctantly released his hold on Draco’s hips. 

“Alright. Tomorrow. After your debut!” Harry laughed, feeling tipsy as well.

+++++

“I wonder what dessert is tonight,” Ron said.

“I’m sure Christmas pudding,” Harry said and glanced across the room at Draco. They shared a smile. Harry had spent the night dreaming about Draco’s soft, supple lips. He couldn’t wait to get him to Grimmauld Place, where they could be alone for the first time, both knowing what they wanted from the other. 

“Bugger. It’s always Christmas pudding.” Ron continued grumbling to Hermione. Harry ignored them and ate his dinner. He was excited for Draco and his opportunity to share his new-found skills with the rest of the school. 

Professor McGonagall stood and Harry watched her clap. The noise of the Great Hall fell to a gentle hum. “Good evening, everyone. Tonight, we have a special presentation from a student who has been making every effort to atone for past wrongs. Instead of Christmas pudding tonight, we will have Parkin, made by Draco Malfoy.”

The Great Hall went silent. Then the hum rose to a roar. Professor McGonagall sent a spell out across the room and it exploded when it reached the entrance. Harry covered his ears, along with most of the school. 

“We will have none of that, young men and women. He has invested a lot of time in this project. Please enjoy.” 

She returned to her seat and tapped her wand on the Head Table. Parkin appeared before everyone, and Harry took a bite. Ron looked askance at Harry, but Harry smiled and hummed his approval. He was surprised he hadn’t grown tired of it yet. “It’s good. Try it.”

“Are you mad?” Ron demanded, his ears reddening.

“Shut it and eat your dessert,” Harry said.

Hermione followed Harry’s example and took a bite of hers. “This is really good,” she said. 

Ron frowned. “I knew you were helping him, Harry, but this?”

“Just try it, Ron, and stop complaining.”

 

Ron sighed. “Fine.” He took it in his fingers and lifted it to his mouth. His eyes widened. He chewed for a moment and smiled. “It’s not bad at all.” He looked at Draco. “Really good.”

The rest of the Great Hall began to eat their portions as well. Harry beamed, seeing everyone join in. He’d done a good thing. Draco may feel his acceptance, he didn’t know; he didn’t feel it was his place to ask. That was personal. But if Draco told him, he would listen.

+++++

“Ready?” Harry asked, and held out his arm. Draco didn’t have his trunk, to Harry’s surprise. He had a backpack.

“Yes.”

Harry smiled. “Alright. Let’s go.” Harry held out his wand, turned them in place, and they Dissapparated from the Great Hall. Moments later, they landed in the entrance of Grimmauld Place. Harry didn’t let go of Draco when they arrived. They steadied each other. 

“Welcome to Grimmauld Place.” Harry let go, and turned towards Draco. “It’s not much to look at, but it’s safe. And warm.” Harry frowned. “Kreacher!”

The house-elf appeared and looked at Harry. “How can Kreacher serve Master Potter?”

“Did you put up the decorations and…” Harry looked into the sitting room, “…get a Christmas tree?”

“Kreacher serves Master. Master said he wished for a lovely Christmas.”

“I did?” Harry didn’t remember the comment, but it must have been a conversation with Hermione. 

“Yes, Master Potter. You talks with the lady and Kreacher hears. Kreacher wished to surprise Master.”

“Oh. Well… fancy that.” Harry looked at the lights and baubles strung up everywhere. The tree took up half the sitting room, and reached the ceiling. 

“I thought you didn’t have a house-elf.”

“Kreacher is more like family…” Harry said. “He saved my life. I set him free, but he chose to stop here. He loves this old house.”

Draco nodded. “It’s quite lovely. Thank you for inviting me, Harry.”

“My pleasure.” Harry smiled. “Here, let’s put our things away, change clothes, and we’ll get a takeaway for a snack.”

“Alright.” Draco followed him up the creaking stairs to the master bedroom. Harry had completely redone it. It wasn’t special, but it made the house feel more like his home. He had got a new bed, cleaned the frame, replaced the wallpaper. Loads of things. 

“This isn’t what it always looked like. I got rid of most of the original stuff in here. There were some Dark Artefacts and books that the Ministry wanted under lock and key. I kept the bed frame and bedside tables. Everything else is new.”

“It’s very nice.” Draco looked around and dropped his backpack on the bed. Harry did the same. 

“Thanks.” Harry moved closer to Draco and pulled him in for a kiss. He didn’t linger. He just liked that he could do it. Draco’s face pinkened, but he didn’t complain. “Let’s change clothes, and I’ll show you some of the shops. There’s one that you’ll really like. I hope. It’s a bakery.” Harry smiled.

+++++

“I’m new to this,” Draco said. He sat with his legs crossed on the sofa.

“Me, too. Are you alright? We don’t have to shag. There are other things I’ve tried.”

Draco flushed. “I’ve… tried some things, too. On my own.”

Harry nodded. “Alright. I just don’t want to hurt you.”

“Honestly, Harry, your prick cannot possibly be larger than some shits I’ve taken.” Red suffused Draco’s face. 

Harry laughed; Draco had never been so _open_ before. “No, I suppose not. I mean, I’m… decent.”

“I’ve felt what you have.” Draco smirked.

Harry gaped for a moment. “You’re taking the piss.” He supposed some levity was needed. It wasn’t like they were both sex workers. Harry had more experience than Draco, but still not enough to make him an expert. 

“Of course I am. I’m nervous.” 

“I wouldn’t hurt you, Draco. I promise.”

Looking at Harry straight on, he said, “I trust you.”

“Good,” Harry said, smiling. “Shall we go upstairs?”

Draco rose from the sofa and held out his arm, gesturing towards the hallway. Harry followed suit and led them to the bedroom. His hands trembled. If his were, he _knew_ Draco’s were. Harry wondered if he had the same fluttering in his stomach, or if Draco were calm, just waiting to be told what to do. Harry wondered if he had the will to dominate another person, let alone Draco. He liked being in charge of certain situations, but being the one who had all the power over another person, their pleasure, made him feel like wool unravelling. His heart pounded like a steel drum as he rose ever higher, Draco’s footsteps behind his. The bedroom door seemed far away, like that house had elongated just because of his desire. 

Harry chuckled, his nerves on fire, and imagination going wild. “What have you done on your own?”

With Draco not having to look at him, maybe he’d answer. 

“Oh, I, er…” He paused. “You know?”

“No, I don’t know.”

Harry stopped at the bedroom door. There were many ways things could go. Pin Draco to the bed, to the door, strip him until he was exposed, lick and kiss and suck whatever was in sight. Harry inhaled, exhaled measuredly. 

“I played with my arse.” There was a hitch in his voice. Harry turned and looked at him. Draco’s face was like a purple orchid, beautiful and deep in its hue. 

Harry took Draco’s hand, then the other, and lifted them above his head. Inching them backwards, he pressed into Draco until they hit the door. “I want to watch that,” Harry whispered. He leaned in and rubbed his nose against Draco’s jaw. He traced the edge of skin and bone, exhaling, trying to control the urge to rip both of their clothes off. “Would you like that?”

Moaning, Draco said, “Yes.”

“Show me what you like…” Harry rubbed his pelvis against Draco’s. “I want to watch you…” He kissed Draco’s jaw, moved to his chin, then moved to the other side, up to Draco’s ear. He took the lobe in his mouth and sucked it, twirling his tongue around, then up the shell of Draco’s ear. Harry could feel the throbbing of their cocks between them. “I’m going to take your clothes off. And you’re going to stand here and wait.”

Harry looked into Draco’s eyes. They were glassy, like a Remembrall in the right hands. “Yes.” Breathless, heart pounding, Draco stood still. He shuddered under Harry’s gaze; Harry could feel it between them. He leaned in and pressed his lips against Draco’s. They were soft, pliant. The kiss was gentle, a promise for more to come. Harry moaned against Draco’s mouth. 

“More?” he whispered against Draco’s lips.

Draco nodded. 

“Mm. I want more, too.” Harry kissed Draco again. Draco’s mouth opened without provocation. Harry chuckled, but took the invitation. He pressed his tongue against Draco’s, sliding it around, taking the lead. The response came, both of them moaning. Harry had snogged a bit, had learned to breathe through his nose and not his mouth; Draco panted. Knowing he likely hadn’t learned the same, Harry moved along Draco’s jaw again, following it to his neck. He drew a line with his tongue across the muscle and sinew, feeling it clench and relax. Draco moaned again. Giving Draco pleasure made him feel good, in control. The same way he felt while they had been cooking together and Draco had taken his cues from Harry’s direction. Harry bit down, sucking on the pale skin. A moan filled the air, and Draco’s arms slipped around Harry’s waist. 

“I didn’t say you could do that.” Harry took hold of Draco’s arms and re-placed them above his head. “Tell me something. Did anyone see you playing with yourself?”

“No,” Draco said.

“Good.” Harry bit down again. “You’re mine. I’m the only one who can watch. Understood?” 

“Yes.”

One button at a time, Harry took care of Draco’s shirt. He pulled the hem from the trousers, and when it opened, he said, “Lower your arms.”

Like a well-behaved pet, Draco obeyed. The opportunity to do so much lay before Harry. Instead of touching, he unbuttoned Draco’s cuffs and slid the shirt off his shoulders, avoiding his skin. Draco whined. 

“Hmm. I’ll touch you. I promise. I’m savouring the moment.” Harry rubbed the front of Draco’s trousers, tracing the outline of his cock. Draco’s hips rose as if Harry’s hand were a puppet master. “Be patient. I promised I would touch you.”

Huffing, Draco lowered his hips. Harry took the button between his fingers and worked it open. Slow, deliberate, he unzipped Draco’s trousers. 

“I have condoms and lube. In the bedside table,” Harry said. He bent down and untied Draco’s shoes. “Toe them off, please.” One at a time, the shoes came off. “Relax. I’m going to lift your legs and take your socks off.” Harry smiled. He liked doing this, treating Draco like he was precious. Draco didn’t seem to mind. In fact, Harry noticed that he had leaned against the bedroom door, and even lifted one leg for Harry without direction. Thinking, Harry tried to decide if that was something he liked or didn’t like. Anticipation was good, but Harry hadn’t told him to do it. _Hrm_. Deciding he liked it, Harry slipped the socks off, with Draco moving in synchrony with him. “I like that. What do you think I want you to do next?”

Draco looked down. “Stop leaning against the door so you can take my trousers and boxers off.”

“Very good.” Draco straightened. Rising, Harry put his hands on Draco’s hips and moved them down, along with his boxers “Do you want me to suck your cock?”

Draco sighed. “Yes.” His breathing was ragged. 

“Shall I decide if you come or not?”

Draco moaned. “Y-yes.”

“I don’t want you to come yet. I’d rather you come when I’m shagging you.”

“O-okay.” 

“I’m not an expert at this. We’ll have to learn together.”

Draco nodded. 

“But I’ll do my best. Like I said, I don’t want to hurt you. Of course I want to please you. Kick the trousers and boxers to the side.”

Harry settled on his knees and took hold of the base of Draco’s cock. It was long and thick. He stroked the length and Draco shuddered. 

“Please.”

The word was like a shock to Harry’s system. His cock throbbed and heat suffused his bones. “Oh my… Draco, you’re so bloody hot.” Harry slipped Draco’s cock in his mouth, twirling his tongue around the head. Slowly at first, then speeding up. Draco moaned, something primal and deep from his toes to his mouth. Harry sank lower, testing how far down he could go. When he reached the back of his throat, he pushed, wondering if he could do it. It felt weird, and he had to think about how to breathe, but he took every inch. Up and down, he worked Draco’s cock, taking in the moans and throbbing in his mouth, the pulsing veins between his lips as he drew back and took it in again. 

“So close,” Draco whispered. 

Harry hummed and withdrew from Draco’s cock. “Not yet.” Harry shifted and stood. Reaching out, he stroked the side of Draco’s neck. There was a bruise from where Harry had sucked on it. He smiled. “See? You’re mine.”

“Yes,” Draco said.

Harry’s gaze shifted to the scars on Draco’s chest. He frowned, looking at his carelessness across Draco’s skin. “I’m sorry for this.” Harry reached out and stroked one of the reddest ones. “Does it still hurt?”

“No.” Draco’s fingers encircled Harry’s wrist. “Stop, Harry. We’re even.”

“Of course. I’m sorry.”

Draco smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s the past.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to think about it.”

“Yeah.” Harry measured Draco. “Do you still want to do this?”

“You tell me.” He switched his grip and put Harry’s hand on his cock, still hard, slippery. 

Harry grinned and took hold of Draco. “Let’s get comfortable.” He opened the bedroom door and led Draco inside. “Lie down.”

While Draco got on the bed, Harry tugged his T-shirt off. He toed off his shoes and removed the rest of his clothes. Draco watched, his legs spread and knees bent, feet flat on the mattress. Harry’s mouth watered, the taste of Draco still on his tongue. It was like he had consumed a piece of Draco that now rested in his soul. One small thing between them, and now Draco was _his_ for however long they maintained their relationship. Harry couldn’t imagine their situation ever growing tedious, when there were things to learn, things to experiment with, and things that were secrets they shared. Draco may like being submissive, but Harry knew once he returned to school, he would be different. The rest of the world didn’t matter. Harry moved towards the bedside table and pulled the lube and condoms out. 

“I want you to show me how you touched yourself.” Harry handed the bottle of viscous fluid to Draco and watched as he moved. Draco shifted on the bed and poured the liquid on his fingers of his right hand. Without preamble, he circled the whorl of his arse, rubbing the lube around. When he spread his legs further and inserted his fingers, Harry sat transfixed. The whorl of pink opened and closed as he thrust his fingers in and out. Draco began to moan. “God. That’s…” Harry lost all words. He watched in the half-light of the evening, the gloaming approaching. Wanting to see better, he thumbed the bedside table lamp on. Harry ran his hand down Draco’s leg, starting at the hip, then thigh, further down until he reached his ankle. With his thumb, he stroked the pale skin. The room had the sound of squishing and Draco moaning. Harry didn’t know how long he could wait. 

Draco added another finger, moaning louder. “Harry.”

“Yes?”

“I want to…”

“Tell me, Draco.” Harry ran his hand back up Draco’s leg.

“I want you inside me.”

Harry’s body trembled. “Are you certain?”

“Yes!” he hissed.

“Alright.” Harry reached for a condom and tore the packaging open. He slipped it over his cock and shifted on the bed, crawling closer to Draco, slipping between his legs. Draco withdrew his fingers and his arms went to the bed, flat, like he was giving himself up. Harry settled on his knees between Draco’s and positioned himself. “Lift your hips up a little.”

Draco did. Harry lined up with Draco’s arse and held himself steady. He knew he wouldn’t manage to drag this out. His cock throbbed, and the desire shooting through him like some sort of parasite of pleasure.

“Relax for me.”

“I am… I’m ready. You can do it.”

Harry pressed his cock against the pink ring of muscle and as he felt his cock slip inside, he stopped. 

“Everything alright?”

“Yes.” Draco panted. 

 

Unwilling to wait, Harry thrust until he felt the tight clutch of Draco’s arse around him. Draco cried out, but moaned after, and Harry shifted, rolling his hips back and then forwards.

“Does it hurt?”

“It’s fine. I did say earlier—”

“I remember.” Harry smiled, panting. He groaned, unable to believe the moment. Draco spread his legs wider. Harry didn’t want to get away. He wanted to stay like this, balls deep inside the man who had hated him, and could one day love him, if he didn’t bollocks it up. He’d settle for being fancied. He rolled his hips. His cock slipped deeper inside Draco, the feeling of being sucked inside of him making him moan. 

All thought faded. He moved his hips back and forth, wrapping himself in the pleasure, let it engulf him and steal his breath. Draco trembled, but his moans told Harry everything. Any pain he’d felt was gone, and he was just as wrapped in the sensations as Harry. His eyes closed, lips parted. The sounds coming out of him made Harry’s cock throb. He moaned, thrusting harder. 

“You’re so bloody perfect,” Harry said, panting. “Wank yourself. I want to see you come.”

They moved with each other. Draco took hold of his cock and joined Harry’s rhythm: long and tantalising strokes as Harry withdrew and thrust again. It was slick and hot between them. The room felt like it was on fire. Harry watched Draco’s reactions, what made his mouth open, what made him cringe. He shifted, pleased when the expression below him became erotic, ecstatic. His arms went akimbo, reaching for anything, the bed, Harry, his pillow. He couldn’t grab hold of anything for longer than a moment. It was beautiful, and Harry felt like Draco’s touch was electric when he finally grabbed Harry’s arms and held on. 

“No. Wank yourself.” Harry didn’t want Draco to stop touching him, but he wanted to see him come more. Touching could come later. Being lazy and exploring each other _would_ come later. 

Harry watched as Draco wanked himself. It was hard and fast, nothing that Harry could match. Hot, too. Seeing him soaked in pleasure was a high. Harry slowed, wanting to see every moment. But Draco groaned, the frustration written in his expression. Harry realised that even though Draco took orders, he, too, was doing the same. He didn’t want frustration. He wanted begging, more moaning.

“Look at me,” said Harry. “I want to see your eyes.” Draco's opened, but he squinted at Harry. “Don’t stop wanking.” Draco’s expression said ‘fuck off, I’ll do what I want'. “Draco…” Harry thrust hard and deep. He used everything he knew to change the look on Draco’s face. That defiance was hot, still showing parts of the Draco he knew best. But Harry wanted to hear Draco beg, like he had earlier. With each roll of his hips, he angled upwards, trying to get under Draco’s skin, under that self-preservation, and natural need to… Harry slowed. Draco’s natural need was for demands, for orders, to surrender control. So Harry did what he knew best: taking charge. 

“How’s it feel?”

Draco moaned.

“I want you to tell me.”

His head lolled, and he moaned again. Harry shifted his hips and thrust harder.

“Tell me, Draco,” he demanded, panting. 

“Harry!” It was a plea as much as it was pleasure spoken. Was there shame or guilt? Harry didn’t know. The tone was hard to read.

“Yes, tell me.”

“It’s— Oh, yes, don’t stop. Fuck me,” he said in a rush. “Please, Harry. Fuck me.” 

A rush of sensation roared through Harry. It was like he’d been behind glass and now he was in the open, free, untamed. 

“Yes, please!”

He continued to thrust, unable to think. Draco stared at him, watched every movement, just as Harry did his. They moaned together, ragged, deep breaths between them. All Harry knew was what he felt, the aching in his bones as the pleasure grew ever higher. The burn of muscle. He cried out. Draco said something inchoate and far away. Everything seemed to come to a halt. The trembling in his muscles died. He snapped. The roar of pleasure split him open. He jerked, moaning something incoherent. The feeling of being elastic pulled too tight overtook him, and the pleasure poured out of him in waves. His hips continued moving, brain stalled. He couldn’t stop, the sensations aching, tight. He reckoned that was Draco’s arse, as reality focussed. Draco moaned, eyes closed again. 

“God… Draco… Come for me.”

As if the command were connected to Draco’s cock, white spurts fell across Draco’s stomach, and wild moaning filled the room. His back arched, and he tightened his grip. He’d fallen apart, too. Harry imagined it was like being free for the first time. Draco had no bonds, nothing but Harry telling him what to do. And that had seemed to be enough. Harry didn’t understand what it was like for Draco, but he knew how much power he felt being the one in control, waiting for acceptance of his orders and demands. It was like nothing he’d ever known. He had no words, cheap or romantic, to explain how he felt. They were foggy, like a morning after rain in summer. 

 

“Harry…”

Harry grunted. “Yeah?”

“It’s… nothing.”

Harry shifted and withdrew his cock from Draco’s arse. He propped himself up and moved up Draco’s body. Reaching out with one hand, he stroked Draco’s cheek. 

Draco looked down. It took Harry a moment, but he twigged what Draco needed. 

“I don’t have loads of experience to compare it to, but, yeah, you were brilliant.”

His face reddened more. “And you’d want to do it again?”

“Of course.” Harry leaned in and kissed him. “You have nothing to worry about, Draco.”

He smiled. “Are you certain?”

“Yeah.” Harry moved to lie down. He settled on his back, took the condom off, and tossed it in the bin. He’d need to clean up, but he settled for wrapping an arm around Draco. “Is this alright?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Er, can I ask you something?”

“You just did.” He smirked.

Harry laughed. “Be serious.” Harry shifted so he could look Draco in the eye. “When you, er, came, was it because I told you to?”

Quiet overtook the room. Draco seemed to have an internal debate. “I… Yes. I think so.”

“Was it good?”

“It was.”

Harry nodded. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No.”

“Are you still worried that I won’t want you?”

Draco looked away. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you got what you wanted.”

“I did. I got you. In more than one way.”

“You ‘got me'?”

“Yeah. Did you think I was taking the piss when I said you were mine?”

“I thought you were just playing your part…”

“No, Draco. You’re mine. Until we decide we don’t want each other.”

Draco nodded. “That sounds alright.”

Harry smiled. “Good.”

Harry didn’t want to get out of bed, but they both needed a warm, wet flannel. He cleaned himself up, then brought another flannel for Draco. He took his time wiping up the mess on Draco’s stomach. He wanted to take care of him, treat him like a treasure. Keep him. Tell him what he wanted, tell him what to do. Harry wished he hadn’t worn a condom. Seeing his come leak out of Draco would’ve made it more exciting. But he was trying to protect both of them. One day… one day, they’d make that decision.

Harry yawned. “I’m knackered.”

“As am I.”

+++++

Sunlight poured across the room. Harry turned and reached out for Draco, but the bed was empty. “Draco?”

Nothing. Stillness. Harry listened, but he couldn’t hear anything apart from his breathing. He got out of bed and pulled on a dressing gown. He went to the kitchen and stopped. 

“Good morning,” Draco said, smiling. There was food on every worktop. 

“Morning. Are you making a proper fry-up?”

“Yes,” Draco said, pride in his tone.

Harry laughed. “That’s brilliant.” He approached Draco. “You’re brilliant.”


End file.
